


Laundry Day

by chalcopyrite



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Laundry, M/M, Oral Sex, Teasing, improvisational bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalcopyrite/pseuds/chalcopyrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh.  These were <em>those</em> socks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Day

Mike wiggled his toes, bored with the stupid program on tv -- what was with all the "I remember the 80s" and "I remember the 90s" crap that seemed to be all MTV showed anymore? Mike remembered the 90s just fine, and some of the 80s, and he didn't remember that they were all that special. 

He spread his toes out again, as far as he could, and a flash of skin caught his eye. He hadn't noticed any of his socks getting a hole in them. Though, hang on, he was pretty sure these weren't his socks at all; he didn't think he had any socks with stripy heels. He would have noticed, right? 

He must have just grabbed a pair of Kevin's socks out of the basket, folded but not yet put away. It wasn't like it mattered, after all, apart from the stripes -- he twisted his foot around to get a better look.

Oh. These were _those_ socks.

These were the socks Kevin had washed a couple of weeks ago, when he'd walked through the living room with the laundry basket and given Mike a long, slow kiss before taking it upstairs. These were the socks that had been in the basket when Mike followed him up hopefully and when Kevin had insisted that he was busy, he had to fold the laundry, Mike had to understand what was _important_ , all with that gleam in his eye that said he was yanking Mike's chain as hard as he could.

*

"But the clean laundry's all over the bed," Kevin said, stacking another folded tee-shirt. "I have to put it away before anything else." He smiled at Mike, that innocent smile that was sometimes genuine.

"We don't have to use the bed." Mike crossed the bedroom and dropped down in front of Kevin, leaning up between his knees for a replay of the kiss downstairs. Kevin leaned down, chasing Mike's mouth and making that little humming noise Mike knew so well, but then he sat back up and held out a handful of denim when Mike tried to follow.

"If I don't fold the jeans, they'll get all creased," he said earnestly. "And then you'll have to iron them, and you'll hate that."

"People seriously iron jeans?" Mike wondered aloud. Kevin nodded, his eyebrows raised, and straightened out the pair of pants he was holding, carefully making sure the seams matched up, tugging them flat, folding the bottoms of the legs up and then the top down, looking up at Mike in between every step.

He put the folded jeans aside and looked at Mike for a second. Mike looked back hopefully, but Kevin fucking _twinkled_ at him and said, "There's still all the rest to fold."

Mike sighed and dropped his head to Kevin's knee with a gentle thud. "I'll just hang out here, then."

"I'd hate for you to get bored," Kevin said. He nudged at Mike to move, then stood up, stepping to the side to grab some other thing, Mike really didn't care all that much, out of the laundry pile. "You could go read a book or something."

"Yeah," Mike said. This hadn't gone the way he'd expected; maybe he should just go back downstairs.

"Or you could watch Food Network."

"You know I hate--" Mike looked, and Kevin was bent forward over the bed, looking back over his shoulder and fucking _glittering_ at him. "I can't believe you," Mike said, and tackled Kevin onto the bed -- not on top of the laundry, _next_ to the laundry.

Kevin laughed up at him. 

Mike leaned one forearm across Kevin's chest and propped himself up on the other elbow. "You are such a tease," he accused.

Kevin grinned. "But Mike, it's important to establish a domestic routine!"

"Says who?"

"Uh -- Roberta something? She had a lot to say about domestic bliss and stocking seams."

Mike blinked at the image that flashed through his mind at that. Not that Kevin would look bad in stockings, quite the opposite -- "Huh."

"Yep. So you know, carry on, I'll just--" Kevin reached out sideways, like he was going for the laundry again.

Mike flat-out _growled_ and plunged his own hand into the "done" pile, coming up with a pair of long socks (neatly folded together, of course). He held them up in front of Kevin and shook them.

"See? Now you're getting it -- wait, hang on," Kevin said, as Mike sat up on top of him and used one of the socks to tie his left wrist to the post of the bed, then wrapped his right wrist in the other one and looped it over one of the curly bits of the headboard. He licked his lips and looked up at Mike, suddenly not laughing at all anymore.

"You okay?" Mike asked, feeling a little awkward. This wasn't -- they hadn't really done this sort of thing, or even talked about it much, because -- well Kevin was Kevin, and, rock-star-ism aside, Mike was a pretty boring person -- but all of a sudden Mike was wondering what he might have been missing out on by assuming it wasn't really his thing.

"Yeah," Kevin said. "I'm good," and fuck, that breathy, _needy_ undertone in his voice just about killed Mike.

"Yeah," Mike echoed, and leaned forward to kiss him. It was different -- Kevin couldn't meet him halfway with his arms spread out like that, even though he clearly wanted to. "Yeah," Mike said, more certainly, and scooted backwards on his knees until he was almost at the foot of the bed again.

"Uh, Mike?" Kevin looked at him with wide eyes. "You're a long way away all of a sudden."

Mike grinned. "Well, I didn't want to get too distracted," he said. "There's still laundry." He pulled something out of the pile next to him -- he didn't even know what it was -- and folded it into something like a square. "I hear routine is important."

"Forget I said that. Forget I said anything," Kevin said, and twisted around enough to sort of kick Mike on the butt. "Get back up here."

"Well, I dunno--"

_"Mike."_

"--I kinda like the view down here." Mike spread his knees a little wider and bent forward. He had to brace himself so he didn't headbutt Kevin in the chest or something, but he had a great close-up of the front of Kevin's jeans, the washed-out laundry-day ones, with Kevin's cock really obviously straining the button-fly. He thumbed open the top button and looked up. "Any objections?"

Kevin shook his head fast. "No. God, Mike."

Mike smirked up at him. "Right here." He tugged at the waist of Kevin's jeans and the rest of the buttons slid out of the buttonholes. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me some day."

"Uh?"

Mike shook his head and tugged Kevin's jeans down -- no boxers, fuck, he was making Laundry Day a national holiday -- and scrambled back up to hide his face against Kevin's belly and lick at the spot of wetness his cock had left there. "Just you," he said nonsensically, and used his free hand to hold Kevin's cock steady while he slid his mouth over the head of it.

Kevin's hips bucked up. "Mike, _please_." The headboard creaked sharply like he'd jerked on it. " _Mike_."

Mike didn't answer because that would have meant stopping what he was doing. He just hummed something indistinct and slid lower, letting Kevin's cock nudge at his throat before backing off and going down again. He couldn't get enough, suddenly, thought for a crazy moment that if he could have swallowed Kevin whole he would have, but he settled for sucking his cock in a fast rhythm, working his tongue as much as he could and not giving a damn about whether he was making ridiculous slurping noises. He -- fuck, he didn't have enough hands for this, he needed-- 

He pulled off long enough to gasp a breath and fumble his own pants open, then went back down, eyes wide open to take in as much of Kevin as he could because taste and touch weren't enough. Kevin had his teeth dug into his lower lip so hard Mike thought it might bleed, and he didn't even look like he was breathing. The folds in his jeans were rough against Mike's dick, but Mike didn't care enough to stop rutting against his leg, getting closer every time he thrust, every time Kevin gritted out a whimper, every time he caught a dash of that musky taste on the back of his tongue. 

"Mike, I'm gonna--" 

Mike tightened his fingers in the loose covers like he could urge Kevin on or something, speeding up even more even though his jaw was starting to ache. It was worth it to hear Kevin drag in a breath like that, to feel his muscles jerking wildly as he completely lost it. Mike pulled off so he could watch, stroking Kevin fast and hard with his spit-slick hand as Kevin's head thunked back against the wall and he yanked at the headboard where he'd wrapped his fingers around it. He came all over his stomach and Mike's hand, and Mike could barely wait for him to finish before he had to get a hand on his own cock, he _had_ to, and it only took a couple of strokes before he was panting and shaking and getting jizz all over Kevin's jeans and the blanket.

He pitched forward half on top of Kevin, swearing he'd move in a second, just as soon as he got his breath back. Any minute now. Really.

"You okay there?" Kevin muttered. Fingers scritched through Mike's hair, and Mike lifted his head enough to see that Kevin had unhooked one sock and slid his hand out of the other one. 

"'M good. You?"

Kevin's "Mm-hmm" was more a purr than a word. "I don't think it was too good for the socks, though."

"They died in a good cause," Mike mumbled, and put his head back down. "We can buy more."

Kevin's low laugh sounded good pressed right up against Mike's ear. "I'll buy stock."

"Sock stock," Mike said, or thought he said, and tipped his head against Kevin's hand.

* 

"You look about a million miles away." Kevin dropped down next to him on the couch.

"Just thinking," Mike said truthfully.

"I hear people do that." Kevin tipped his head so he could see Mike's face. "Anything interesting?"

Mike wiggled his toes again. "Socks."

"...Okay."

"Remember how they got that hole?" Mike pulled his foot up so Kevin could see the spot near the heel where the sock had caught on a pointy bit of headboard and torn.

They both looked at Mike's foot for a few seconds.

"You know," Kevin said thoughtfully, "There are more socks upstairs."

"Do they have holes in them?"

Kevin looked sideways to catch Mike's eye. "Not yet."

Mike was already moving by the time he said "Race you," and the holey socks were about all he was wearing by the time he got to the top of the stairs, but that was okay. They could say it was laundry day.


End file.
